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MLA Full: | "Bodies in Art: Crash Course Art History #11." YouTube, uploaded by CrashCourse, 11 July 2024, www.youtube.com/watch?v=-AKudjxdbQw. |
MLA Inline: | (CrashCourse, 2024) |
APA Full: | CrashCourse. (2024, July 11). Bodies in Art: Crash Course Art History #11 [Video]. YouTube. https://youtube.com/watch?v=-AKudjxdbQw |
APA Inline: | (CrashCourse, 2024) |
Chicago Full: |
CrashCourse, "Bodies in Art: Crash Course Art History #11.", July 11, 2024, YouTube, 13:00, https://youtube.com/watch?v=-AKudjxdbQw. |
In this episode of Crash Course Art History, we’ll hold a mirror to our bodies…in art, anyway. We’ll learn what portraits and self-portraits can tell us about the people they represent and about artists who’ve used bodies to critique their societies.
Introduction: We All Have Bodies 00:00
Portraits & Self-Portraits 00:56
European Art & the Nude Figure 04:10
"Becoming an Image" 07:18
"Olympia" 08:46
Review & Credits 11:54
Image Descriptions: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1ETiCxe4GrVzFii7dBhF42oHx1EUCCh5y12wbtUjsH8A/edit
Sources: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1GW2NKzhpMNMmRyAFJVhFJG9cSfUOMRL-QrcWuHcWcIA/edit?usp=sharing
***
Support us for $5/month on Patreon to keep Crash Course free for everyone forever! https://www.patreon.com/crashcourse
Or support us directly: https://complexly.com/support
Join our Crash Course email list to get the latest news and highlights: https://mailchi.mp/crashcourse/email
Get our special Crash Course Educators newsletter: http://eepurl.com/iBgMhY
Thanks to the following patrons for their generous monthly contributions that help keep Crash Course free for everyone forever:
Forrest Langseth, Emily Beazley, Neeloy Gomes, oranjeez, Rie Ohta, Jack Hart, UwU, Leah H., David Fanska, Andrew Woods, Stephen Akuffo, Ken Davidian, Toni Miles, AmyL, Steve Segreto, Kyle & Katherine Callahan, Laurel Stevens, Krystle Young, Burt Humburg, Perry Joyce, Scott Harrison, Alan Bridgeman, Mark & Susan Billian, Breanna Bosso, Matt Curls, Jennifer Killen, Jon Allen, Sarah & Nathan Catchings, Bernardo Garza, team dorsey, Trevin Beattie, Indija-ka Siriwardena, Jason Rostoker, Siobhán, Ken Penttinen, Barrett Nuzum, Nathan Taylor, Les Aker, William McGraw, Rizwan Kassim, Vaso , ClareG, Alex Hackman, Constance Urist, kelsey warren, Katie Dean, Stephen McCandless, Wai Jack Sin, Ian Dundore, Caleb Weeks
__
Want to find Crash Course elsewhere on the internet?
Instagram - https://www.instagram.com/thecrashcourse/
Facebook - http://www.facebook.com/YouTubeCrashCourse
Twitter - http://www.twitter.com/TheCrashCourse
CC Kids: http://www.youtube.com/crashcoursekids
Introduction: We All Have Bodies 00:00
Portraits & Self-Portraits 00:56
European Art & the Nude Figure 04:10
"Becoming an Image" 07:18
"Olympia" 08:46
Review & Credits 11:54
Image Descriptions: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1ETiCxe4GrVzFii7dBhF42oHx1EUCCh5y12wbtUjsH8A/edit
Sources: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1GW2NKzhpMNMmRyAFJVhFJG9cSfUOMRL-QrcWuHcWcIA/edit?usp=sharing
***
Support us for $5/month on Patreon to keep Crash Course free for everyone forever! https://www.patreon.com/crashcourse
Or support us directly: https://complexly.com/support
Join our Crash Course email list to get the latest news and highlights: https://mailchi.mp/crashcourse/email
Get our special Crash Course Educators newsletter: http://eepurl.com/iBgMhY
Thanks to the following patrons for their generous monthly contributions that help keep Crash Course free for everyone forever:
Forrest Langseth, Emily Beazley, Neeloy Gomes, oranjeez, Rie Ohta, Jack Hart, UwU, Leah H., David Fanska, Andrew Woods, Stephen Akuffo, Ken Davidian, Toni Miles, AmyL, Steve Segreto, Kyle & Katherine Callahan, Laurel Stevens, Krystle Young, Burt Humburg, Perry Joyce, Scott Harrison, Alan Bridgeman, Mark & Susan Billian, Breanna Bosso, Matt Curls, Jennifer Killen, Jon Allen, Sarah & Nathan Catchings, Bernardo Garza, team dorsey, Trevin Beattie, Indija-ka Siriwardena, Jason Rostoker, Siobhán, Ken Penttinen, Barrett Nuzum, Nathan Taylor, Les Aker, William McGraw, Rizwan Kassim, Vaso , ClareG, Alex Hackman, Constance Urist, kelsey warren, Katie Dean, Stephen McCandless, Wai Jack Sin, Ian Dundore, Caleb Weeks
__
Want to find Crash Course elsewhere on the internet?
Instagram - https://www.instagram.com/thecrashcourse/
Facebook - http://www.facebook.com/YouTubeCrashCourse
Twitter - http://www.twitter.com/TheCrashCourse
CC Kids: http://www.youtube.com/crashcoursekids
Ever wonder why so many Greek statues are naked?
Is it about beauty, desire, or something else entirely? Bodies are a subject of fascination in art, whether decked out in status symbols or wearing nothing at all.
And there’s a good reason why. All through the ages, many of our most famous artworks have featured the human form. Despite our many differences, we all have a body.
But we don’t all experience it the same way, and there are competing ideas about what makes a body beautiful. On top of that, our notions of beauty and difference have changed and continue to change over time. And all of that makes for some fascinating art.
Hi! I'm Sarah Urist Green, and this is Crash Course Art History. [THEME MUSIC] When you think about bodies and art, one of the first things that comes to mind might be the portrait. From the Mona Lisa to that selfie from your recent trip – portraits are a record of a body at a particular moment in time.
But portraits can show us a lot more about a person than just what they looked like. They can tell us about a person’s class status, values, character, and social influence. These details aren’t always obvious, though.
Like with any artistic representation, it helps to know what symbols to look out for. For example, a subject’s clothes can tell us a lot. Like, these ancestor portraits, created during China’s Qing Dynasty in the 18th century, were commissioned by wealthy families to showcase their lineage and status.
Hung on the walls of homes, the portraits honored departed loved ones, allowing them to be remembered by family, friends, and guests. Shi Wenying and Lady Guan’s style of dress shows the viewer where they sit on the social ladder. Shi Wenying was a lieutenant-general in the military, which the artist communicates with the peacock feather and fur coat.
These are symbols that people of the Qing dynasty, who valued military service, wealth, and power, would have respected. In Lady Guan’s portrait, she dons a full-length courtly dress, which was only worn by high-ranking officials and nobles. And note the three earrings.
They identify Guan as a Manchu woman, part of the lineage that established the Qing dynasty. Though they didn’t have filters or Photoshop like we do now, portraits have always contained some… embellishments on the truth. For example, the artist never actually saw Lady Guan in person!
It wasn’t considered proper for women of the time to keep company with unfamiliar men. The artist relied on other people’s verbal descriptions of her face. So the portrait is an idealized version of her, based more on imagination than observation.
But portraits are never really “real” or truthful anyway. That’s because they freeze a body’s appearance at a moment in time, when in reality we’re always changing. Both because we age and also because we’re always being seen from different perspectives.
By others, and by ourselves. American artist Cindy Sherman has captured the fluidity of identity in her work over the last several decades, including her 1970s series, “Untitled Film Stills.” In it, she dressed and posed herself in a variety of portraits that reference stereotypical female characters in films. In one, she’s a housewife standing over the kitchen sink.
In another, she’s tangled in the sheets gazing wistfully off-camera. Next, she’s a student reaching for a library book, or a fashionable woman walking down a city street. Each image could be read in numerous ways, depending on your background, generation, or just which movies you’ve seen.
In this way, Sherman turns her body into a blank canvas, reflecting society’s many and often contradictory expectations of women. Her work reminds us that how we see ourselves, and how society sees us, is always changing. Of course, not all bodies in art are clothed.
Some of the most famous ones are decidedly not. This goes way back to Classical Greek and Roman sculpture, which celebrated the nude figure as the pinnacle of beauty. And because art students during the Renaissance and beyond studied these classics, European art from the 15th to the 20th century has no shortage of nude bodies.
Who can be found reclining on beds, clouds, and even on satyrs. Classical male nudes exhibited perfect athletic forms, embodying strength, beauty, and determination — the ideal masculine figure. Of course, most ancient Greeks didn’t actually look like this.
In general, this look was about aspiration and admiration, not reality. And men in these cultures weren’t just valued for their physical prowess — their chiseled bods were also considered to be a sign of moral superiority. Male nudes were typically shown confidently, with weapons and… you know, tough-guy stuff.
Female nudes, on the other hand, were usually representations of sensuality and fertility. At the same time, they had to demonstrate modesty. Here, you can see how Aphrodite covers herself and averts her gaze.
So, while the male nude could be loud and proud, the female nude generally exhibited some shame. An age-old trope that we’re totally over now, right? In any case, the way we look at and interpret a subject in art, especially a human subject, changes based on the power dynamics between the viewer and the thing being viewed.
In art history, we refer to this dynamic as the gaze. So, since pretty much all artists in classical Greek and Roman cultures were men, they were often imagined as the default audience for art. Men were the ones looking or gazing at art, and women were objects to be gazed at.
You can see this perspective in how nudes are typically posed. Female nudes tend to lie helpless and passive, inviting the viewer to look at, and maybe lust after, them. Whereas male nudes are given a place of equal, or often higher, footing relative to the viewer.
We gaze up at their greatness and watch them mid-action, while female nudes are more static, and generally below the level of male figures. Sadly this is not a relic of the past, which is why you might hear the phrase “the male gaze” being thrown about in cultural conversation. And it’s also why Captain America poses like this…and Black Widow poses like this.
Of course, in art history as in life, males don’t always desire females, and females don’t always want to be desired by males. There’s an entire spectrum of gender and sexuality that is occasionally, if infrequently, reflected in art. Like, we know that there were lots of Greek and Roman sculptures featuring the intersex figure of Hermaphroditus, child of the gods Aphrodite and Hermes.
But these sculptures have frequently been left out of the conversation because they don’t conform to traditional ideas about gender and heterosexual desire. Thankfully, artists have been challenging these dynamics for decades. For example, American artist Cassils is transgender and uses their body to critique narrow ideas of gender and the complicated dynamics of the gaze.
In their 2012 performance piece, “Becoming an Image,” a nearly nude Cassils kicks, punches, and attacks a two-thousand-pound block of clay. Performed in almost total darkness, the only time the audience, or Cassils, can see, is when a photographer lights the room with their camera’s flash. The artist’s body is as much a part of the performance as the clay, and the fight between the two can be seen as representing the ongoing struggle of trans communities to simply exist.
The audience is given no choice but to gaze upon Cassils’ body, but their view is thoroughly incomplete, captured only during these fractured moments of intense violence. In this powerful work, Cassils reclaims power over their body by both revealing it and taking it away. We, the audience, are left with an unforgettable reminder of the frequent violence that occurs against trans people around the world.
And we’re also left with many questions about our own participation in this continuing brutality—whether it’s, in the artist’s words: “as victims or instigators, as bystanders, as witnesses, and as consumers of these stories.” But, social critique isn’t unique to 21st-century art. Like, check out Edouard Manet’s “Olympia,” from 1863. Manet paints a female nude who may be reclining, but is not merely a passive victim of our gaze.
Olympia stares directly at us and rests her hand casually over her lap, controlling what we can and can’t see. The portrait shocked the French public when it debuted. Manet’s painting references a famous nude in art history, Titian’s Venus of Urbino, but it also strayed away from tradition.
Titian’s reclining nude is named after the Roman goddess of love and beauty. She's in a wealthy Italian home, gazing flirtatiously up at us as her servants in the background prepare her clothing for the day. But Manet’s model, Victorine Meurent, portrays a sex worker— and perhaps was a sex worker in real life, though the historical record is unclear.
In any case, she ’s a working-class woman who is shown displaying ownership over her body by–to some degree– preventing us from looking. Instead of painting a delicate, modest aristocrat, Manet presents us with an ordinary woman who recognizes the power of her body, and gazes right back. But Victorine isn’t the only woman in this painting.
A Black woman, named Laure, is also shown, though she didn’t get fully credited as a model until 1999. Manet’s painting was completed only about fifteen years after the abolition of slavery in France in 1848. And it was still fairly commonplace for European aristocrats to include Black people in their portraits in positions of servitude.
They were often portrayed as submissive, visibly impoverished, or hypersexualized. Like peacock feathers and fur coats were a symbol of power in Qing dynasty China, in European paintings, servants or enslaved people were often included to reflect the status of the wealthier white folks that were featured. As with Laure, these Black individuals — though often real people — were rarely, if ever, named.
But some scholars have argued Manet was pushing that envelope. He shows Laure neither sexualized nor impoverished, as a working-class woman alongside another working-class woman. And when we think about the reality of the painting’s creation, real-life Victorine and Laure were quite literally doing the same thing — being paid to model.
Still, Laure is placed in a traditional act of service: she’s an attendant to the more empowered-seeming Victorine. So, when we look at this portrait through the lens of both gender and race, it begs the question of not only who gets power over their body, but who gets to recline and who has to serve. The Japanese artist Yasumasa Morimura pushes these questions even closer to the surface in his 1988 recreation of this work.
In it, he dresses in drag and takes Victorine’s place on the bed. This urges viewers to consider how changing both the gender and the ethnicity of the subject changes its meaning entirely. Bodies in art are so much more than sculpted abs and fleshy figures.
They serve a key role in reflecting, and critiquing, the complicated relationships we have with other people, society, and ourselves. Analyzing these artworks can help us better understand — and perhaps disrupt— our biases toward or against certain bodies. Both of the past, and today.
Looking at art together might even help make this universal experience of having a body one that's more equitable for everybody. Next time, we’ll look at how the global exchange of goods and ideas has influenced art throughout history. I’ll see you there.
Thanks for watching this episode of Crash Course Art History which was filmed at the Indianapolis Museum of Art at Newfields and was made with the help of all these resourceful people. If you want to help keep Crash Course free for everyone, forever, you can join our community on Patreon.
Is it about beauty, desire, or something else entirely? Bodies are a subject of fascination in art, whether decked out in status symbols or wearing nothing at all.
And there’s a good reason why. All through the ages, many of our most famous artworks have featured the human form. Despite our many differences, we all have a body.
But we don’t all experience it the same way, and there are competing ideas about what makes a body beautiful. On top of that, our notions of beauty and difference have changed and continue to change over time. And all of that makes for some fascinating art.
Hi! I'm Sarah Urist Green, and this is Crash Course Art History. [THEME MUSIC] When you think about bodies and art, one of the first things that comes to mind might be the portrait. From the Mona Lisa to that selfie from your recent trip – portraits are a record of a body at a particular moment in time.
But portraits can show us a lot more about a person than just what they looked like. They can tell us about a person’s class status, values, character, and social influence. These details aren’t always obvious, though.
Like with any artistic representation, it helps to know what symbols to look out for. For example, a subject’s clothes can tell us a lot. Like, these ancestor portraits, created during China’s Qing Dynasty in the 18th century, were commissioned by wealthy families to showcase their lineage and status.
Hung on the walls of homes, the portraits honored departed loved ones, allowing them to be remembered by family, friends, and guests. Shi Wenying and Lady Guan’s style of dress shows the viewer where they sit on the social ladder. Shi Wenying was a lieutenant-general in the military, which the artist communicates with the peacock feather and fur coat.
These are symbols that people of the Qing dynasty, who valued military service, wealth, and power, would have respected. In Lady Guan’s portrait, she dons a full-length courtly dress, which was only worn by high-ranking officials and nobles. And note the three earrings.
They identify Guan as a Manchu woman, part of the lineage that established the Qing dynasty. Though they didn’t have filters or Photoshop like we do now, portraits have always contained some… embellishments on the truth. For example, the artist never actually saw Lady Guan in person!
It wasn’t considered proper for women of the time to keep company with unfamiliar men. The artist relied on other people’s verbal descriptions of her face. So the portrait is an idealized version of her, based more on imagination than observation.
But portraits are never really “real” or truthful anyway. That’s because they freeze a body’s appearance at a moment in time, when in reality we’re always changing. Both because we age and also because we’re always being seen from different perspectives.
By others, and by ourselves. American artist Cindy Sherman has captured the fluidity of identity in her work over the last several decades, including her 1970s series, “Untitled Film Stills.” In it, she dressed and posed herself in a variety of portraits that reference stereotypical female characters in films. In one, she’s a housewife standing over the kitchen sink.
In another, she’s tangled in the sheets gazing wistfully off-camera. Next, she’s a student reaching for a library book, or a fashionable woman walking down a city street. Each image could be read in numerous ways, depending on your background, generation, or just which movies you’ve seen.
In this way, Sherman turns her body into a blank canvas, reflecting society’s many and often contradictory expectations of women. Her work reminds us that how we see ourselves, and how society sees us, is always changing. Of course, not all bodies in art are clothed.
Some of the most famous ones are decidedly not. This goes way back to Classical Greek and Roman sculpture, which celebrated the nude figure as the pinnacle of beauty. And because art students during the Renaissance and beyond studied these classics, European art from the 15th to the 20th century has no shortage of nude bodies.
Who can be found reclining on beds, clouds, and even on satyrs. Classical male nudes exhibited perfect athletic forms, embodying strength, beauty, and determination — the ideal masculine figure. Of course, most ancient Greeks didn’t actually look like this.
In general, this look was about aspiration and admiration, not reality. And men in these cultures weren’t just valued for their physical prowess — their chiseled bods were also considered to be a sign of moral superiority. Male nudes were typically shown confidently, with weapons and… you know, tough-guy stuff.
Female nudes, on the other hand, were usually representations of sensuality and fertility. At the same time, they had to demonstrate modesty. Here, you can see how Aphrodite covers herself and averts her gaze.
So, while the male nude could be loud and proud, the female nude generally exhibited some shame. An age-old trope that we’re totally over now, right? In any case, the way we look at and interpret a subject in art, especially a human subject, changes based on the power dynamics between the viewer and the thing being viewed.
In art history, we refer to this dynamic as the gaze. So, since pretty much all artists in classical Greek and Roman cultures were men, they were often imagined as the default audience for art. Men were the ones looking or gazing at art, and women were objects to be gazed at.
You can see this perspective in how nudes are typically posed. Female nudes tend to lie helpless and passive, inviting the viewer to look at, and maybe lust after, them. Whereas male nudes are given a place of equal, or often higher, footing relative to the viewer.
We gaze up at their greatness and watch them mid-action, while female nudes are more static, and generally below the level of male figures. Sadly this is not a relic of the past, which is why you might hear the phrase “the male gaze” being thrown about in cultural conversation. And it’s also why Captain America poses like this…and Black Widow poses like this.
Of course, in art history as in life, males don’t always desire females, and females don’t always want to be desired by males. There’s an entire spectrum of gender and sexuality that is occasionally, if infrequently, reflected in art. Like, we know that there were lots of Greek and Roman sculptures featuring the intersex figure of Hermaphroditus, child of the gods Aphrodite and Hermes.
But these sculptures have frequently been left out of the conversation because they don’t conform to traditional ideas about gender and heterosexual desire. Thankfully, artists have been challenging these dynamics for decades. For example, American artist Cassils is transgender and uses their body to critique narrow ideas of gender and the complicated dynamics of the gaze.
In their 2012 performance piece, “Becoming an Image,” a nearly nude Cassils kicks, punches, and attacks a two-thousand-pound block of clay. Performed in almost total darkness, the only time the audience, or Cassils, can see, is when a photographer lights the room with their camera’s flash. The artist’s body is as much a part of the performance as the clay, and the fight between the two can be seen as representing the ongoing struggle of trans communities to simply exist.
The audience is given no choice but to gaze upon Cassils’ body, but their view is thoroughly incomplete, captured only during these fractured moments of intense violence. In this powerful work, Cassils reclaims power over their body by both revealing it and taking it away. We, the audience, are left with an unforgettable reminder of the frequent violence that occurs against trans people around the world.
And we’re also left with many questions about our own participation in this continuing brutality—whether it’s, in the artist’s words: “as victims or instigators, as bystanders, as witnesses, and as consumers of these stories.” But, social critique isn’t unique to 21st-century art. Like, check out Edouard Manet’s “Olympia,” from 1863. Manet paints a female nude who may be reclining, but is not merely a passive victim of our gaze.
Olympia stares directly at us and rests her hand casually over her lap, controlling what we can and can’t see. The portrait shocked the French public when it debuted. Manet’s painting references a famous nude in art history, Titian’s Venus of Urbino, but it also strayed away from tradition.
Titian’s reclining nude is named after the Roman goddess of love and beauty. She's in a wealthy Italian home, gazing flirtatiously up at us as her servants in the background prepare her clothing for the day. But Manet’s model, Victorine Meurent, portrays a sex worker— and perhaps was a sex worker in real life, though the historical record is unclear.
In any case, she ’s a working-class woman who is shown displaying ownership over her body by–to some degree– preventing us from looking. Instead of painting a delicate, modest aristocrat, Manet presents us with an ordinary woman who recognizes the power of her body, and gazes right back. But Victorine isn’t the only woman in this painting.
A Black woman, named Laure, is also shown, though she didn’t get fully credited as a model until 1999. Manet’s painting was completed only about fifteen years after the abolition of slavery in France in 1848. And it was still fairly commonplace for European aristocrats to include Black people in their portraits in positions of servitude.
They were often portrayed as submissive, visibly impoverished, or hypersexualized. Like peacock feathers and fur coats were a symbol of power in Qing dynasty China, in European paintings, servants or enslaved people were often included to reflect the status of the wealthier white folks that were featured. As with Laure, these Black individuals — though often real people — were rarely, if ever, named.
But some scholars have argued Manet was pushing that envelope. He shows Laure neither sexualized nor impoverished, as a working-class woman alongside another working-class woman. And when we think about the reality of the painting’s creation, real-life Victorine and Laure were quite literally doing the same thing — being paid to model.
Still, Laure is placed in a traditional act of service: she’s an attendant to the more empowered-seeming Victorine. So, when we look at this portrait through the lens of both gender and race, it begs the question of not only who gets power over their body, but who gets to recline and who has to serve. The Japanese artist Yasumasa Morimura pushes these questions even closer to the surface in his 1988 recreation of this work.
In it, he dresses in drag and takes Victorine’s place on the bed. This urges viewers to consider how changing both the gender and the ethnicity of the subject changes its meaning entirely. Bodies in art are so much more than sculpted abs and fleshy figures.
They serve a key role in reflecting, and critiquing, the complicated relationships we have with other people, society, and ourselves. Analyzing these artworks can help us better understand — and perhaps disrupt— our biases toward or against certain bodies. Both of the past, and today.
Looking at art together might even help make this universal experience of having a body one that's more equitable for everybody. Next time, we’ll look at how the global exchange of goods and ideas has influenced art throughout history. I’ll see you there.
Thanks for watching this episode of Crash Course Art History which was filmed at the Indianapolis Museum of Art at Newfields and was made with the help of all these resourceful people. If you want to help keep Crash Course free for everyone, forever, you can join our community on Patreon.